


The Days of Us

by But_pizza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, Adventure, F/M, Harry's alive and kicking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/But_pizza/pseuds/But_pizza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eggsy struggles to make his mark in the world. Elsewhere, a woman flees from the shadows of her own making. Worlds collide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back on the field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wanted to try an Eggsy/OFC and seeing there is a paucity of such works on AO3 I decided to give it a shot. Would love to hear what you guys think. Thanks for reading!

The community library was redbrick, Victorian, noble. Eggsy pushed through the swinging doors, careful to make his steps noiseless. Smiled at the redhead manning the central reception area and entered the communal area. It was late afternoon on a Monday, just an hour before clocking out time, so there were only a handful of retired folks and school children milling among the shelves, huddled over lacquered surfaces illuminated by dusty desk lamps. He grabbed a random magazine, an aged issue of _Anglers Quarterly_ , and slipped into the unmarked door behind the twenty-fifth shelf.

The room was small, the walls lined with dusty computer equipment and neglected paperwork. The cherry wood desk in the middle of the room was bare but for a single unmarked folder. The late sun filtered through the blinds and came to rest on the dark-headed woman seated demurely behind the desk.

‘Galahad. Thank you for coming on such short a notice.’

‘Lovely to see you again, M.’

Eggsy winced at the unnaturally polished RP tripping off his tongue. He hated it, but when one is in the presence of Moira Redwell, one can’t help but bow a little lower, sit a little straighter, and speak a little clearer. He ignored the instinctive urge to sweep the room for bugs. Moira would’ve taken care of that detail.

‘Did any sunbathing during your trip to California?’

A ghost of a smile skirted across her porcelain features. Eggsy always thought she looked like a wartime pinup girl with her tinted cheeks and full red lips and carefully coiffed hair. But she had always been more than that, he thought, briefly remembering the time he underestimated her and paid dearly for it.

‘Had to complete the job. Perhaps some other time.’ She gestured at the opposite chair, then nudged the folder towards him. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to take a rain check on the intel extraction assignment in Libya. Something demands our immediate attention. Have a look at this.

‘MP Charlie Oscar was reported missing since 30 hours ago. He was last seen leaving the Palace of Westminster at 1130 hours in a tinted sedan with his secretary, Mr. John Wickham. Session reports documented a heated debate over the Terrorism Act, a topic which Mr. Oscar is passionately vocal about. Watching footage of the proceedings, he definitely ruffled feathers of some unhappy peace-loving birds that morning.’ She retrieved a file from beneath the desk. Inside was a photograph of a middle-aged bald man, lifeless eyes staring back out from a morgue slab.

‘Mr Wickham was found dead in a back alley dumpster in the South East side by a house help this morning. Post-mortem is ongoing as we speak. Mr Oscar never came home yesterday. The police traced all surveillance cameras in the country and at all exit points out. Turned up blank. But our intel suggests Mr Oscar was transferred out of the UK by an unregistered vessel to Norway.’

‘Are we talking oil tankers or sail boats?’ 

‘A Russian Hobart class assault ship, to be precise.’

He gave a low whistle. ‘Clearly someone is desperate for the Senator to shut his trap. Any leads?’

‘Unfortunately, no. But we have a rough idea. There are…certain parties who are interested in the state of our national security.’

‘Power nations. Of course.’ Eggsy pursed his lips. ‘This could get messy.’

‘We believe he is in a safe house in Ulsteinvik, and we have some idea as to what they want from him.’

‘To back off the bill,’ he finished for her.

‘As for the identity of his host…that’s where you come in.’

‘Or we can get him back in one piece, keep him in a secure location, and draw out whoever’s behind this.’

‘Precisely.’ She smiled. ‘Very good, Eggsy.’

The anticipation was a restless kind of energy. He could feel it sparking his body into a nervous readiness. Finally, a proper field assignment! That last international mission in Argentina he had his ass properly handed to him. He couldn’t breathe without morphine for a week. That was enough to convince HQ to pull him off the field for three months, only to have him sulking around HQ evading his desk work until Merlin demanded to have his position reinstated to end the older agent’s own torment suffering his whines.

He couldn’t wait to get started.

‘When do we leave?’

‘As soon as Lancelot is refreshed and ready, we’ll be on our way.’

‘ _Lancelot?_ ’ Eggsy sat up straight, frowning. As far as he knew, Roxy was still in Tibet concluding an assignment. She was not due home until pm tomorrow.

Moira nodded, satisfied that he was finally beginning to understand. ‘I’m sure you can appreciate the degree of urgency we are dealing with, Eggsy.’ She allowed a final smile. ‘Good luck.’

According to the field report, Lancelot hadn’t had a wink in 40 hours. They were sending an exhausted agent onto the field. A liability, Eggsy thought, frowning. One error was enough to get the both of them killed. 

On the plane, Lancelot dismissed his concern with an impatient wave, as she yanked on her boots. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Why can’t they pick someone else?’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d be wondering if you’re not happy to have me along.’ She shot him a look that said _I’m-sleep-deprived-so-don’t-push-your-luck_. ‘And to answer your question, I speak better Russian than most of us.’

Eggsy casted one last frustrated glare at the back of his partner’s head, and sank back into his seat. It wasn’t a question of language proficiency. Eggsy knew she was there to be the diplomat should the need arise, a role Eggsy hasn’t quite gotten the hang of. He had always found it easier to shoot first, ask questions later than working out a negotiation and end up shooting later anyway.

He knew, more importantly, that HQ still wasn’t comfortable letting him execute this solo. So they gave him a baby sitter—not an uncommon practice, but it didn’t make it any less mortifying. Rank-wise Eggsy was as qualified as Roxy was, perhaps even better, seeing how he possessed some street skills beyond what a typical Kingsman agent were required to acquire. Having a same rank agent babysitting him was the biggest insult HQ could inflict.

But Eggsy accepted it without as much as a pip of protest. The insult stung, but he would rather eat soil than hurt Roxy’s feelings …HQ knew the two of them were tight, and saw no shame taking advantage of that fact.

It wasn’t exploiting his weakness, Merlin would point out. It was strategy.

They landed in a field just a mile off their location. Ditching their landing gear and protective suits in a duffel bag hidden under a shrub, they proceeded by foot the rest of the way. Tracked down the house. Lancelot attached the electronic disabling device to the fence and watched as the red light turned green.

‘We’re through security,’ she reported. On cue, Eggsy drew out a pocket-sized wire cutter. 

The level of security around the compound, aside from the wired fence and the cameras which Merlin’s new device took care of, was almost negligent. Eggsy didn’t linger on that thought. He focused on their next obstacle, the side door with the antiquated lock.

With a practiced deftness Eggsy fed the pick into the keyhole. Worked the mechanism with a gilded patience before he pushed home and heard the satisfying click of the tumbler sliding into place. Lancelot went in first, Colt leading. The Russian manor was all covered furniture and dust layers. Eggsy cranked his ears for footsteps, voices. They covered the ground floor in the matter of seconds. Clear.

As they advanced up the stairwell, he slowed as a new stink hit his nose.

‘Building reeks of paraffin,’ Lancelot reported back in a hushed voice.

‘ _Proceed with caution_.’

They encountered no one but a couple of unfortunate henchmen idling by the stairwell. Lancelot nimbly took them down with some well-positioned chops. Eggsy led the way up the first floor, then the second. Clear.

It was then they heard the screams coming from down the corridor. Eggsy’s blood ran cold. It was the screams of a dying man. One corridor. Three doors.

Flicking the safety catch off, Eggsy motioned for Lancelot to take the one on the left. Cautiously, he approached the door in front of him. One kick snapped it right off the hinges.

‘What the—’

Cold water rained from above. ‘Fucking sprinklers just came on.’

The room was bare, except for a chair and a curious black device sitting on it. The screams came again, oddly distorted and repetitive. Eggsy scowled.

‘It’s a recording. He’s not h—’

The blast threw him off his feet, slamming him shoulder first into the far wall. Somewhere distant, more screams, racked with agony.

A loud ringing banged around inside his skull. All extremities and digits present. Good. Eggsy drew a careful breath. Ribs surprisingly intact. Better. Gingerly he took a step. Bit back a howl as pain shot through his ankle. Always a fucking catch. He glanced over at Lancelot. She was shaken, but unharmed. Her concern was evident—he flew the furthest across the room, after all—but he bit back the truth and held a thumb’s up.

‘ _What the hell happened? Lance? Galahad!_ ’

Lancelot was the first to respond. ‘I think—I think the doorway was rigged to the sprinklers system. The contact of the water and paraffin must’ve caused the explosion.’

‘What?' 

Lancelot did not humor him with an explanation, but charged out of the room, rounding the corner with her back to the wall.

That’s when the first of the gunfire started.

Eggsy bolted after her, double suppressed Tokarev pistols out and ready. They were flooding the corridor from the far end, Berettas biting into the walls. Lancelot ducked left into an open doorway; he ducked right, behind a potted plant. He counted the shots, _eight…nine_ …and the hammer clicked empty. He aimed. One shot. A grunt and a dull thud to the floor. Lancelot took out the other man with a single bullet too.

They sped up the steps. ‘I’ll take this floor, you head up.’

‘Done.’

Eggsy edged up, ignoring his throbbing ankle. The next floor was empty, so he headed up. Two men emerged in the landing. Eggsy ducked, narrowly escaping the shot near his temple. More bullets exploded into the walls, the handrail, the carpeted steps. He felt terribly exposed; a bulletproof suit was no use against a bullet to the head.

He had no choice. With a running leap Eggsy launched himself off the banister into the stairwell. He frantically reached out, snagging the nearest handhold in range. His body swung wide with momentum, nearly yanking his grip off. Immediately he scrambled up and over.

Bullets whistled and clipped the rails where he had just been a second ago, spraying splinters of lacquered wood. He managed a couple of return fire before diving into a forward roll to bring himself out of range. He crashed shoulder first into a far corner, just behind an ugly child-height stone ornament. White pain bloomed across his spine. Gritting his teeth he chewed out a curse.

A flurry of heavy steps on the stairs told him his work wasn’t done.

Eggsy saw no convenient escape route—the corridor loomed ahead, taunting. He could make a run for it; the narrow doorways would provide some shelter from the inevitable shower of gunfire, but his back hurt like _fuck_. He couldn’t pull himself to the loo if he had to.

There were men rushing up. They hurried past his hiding place towards the corridor, thinking he was hidden in one of the many rooms. He counted four, armed with knives with one bracing a steel rod. Grunting, he dug his ankles into the ground and leapt up. His legs worked. _Small mercies_.

Instinct took over.

The first goon didn’t know what hit him. He crumpled to the ground before Eggsy could secure his shot gun. Cursing, Eggsy spun around to face the next one that rushed towards him. His arms came up, just as the golf club came crashing down. Angling down he caught the club in the crook of his elbow, then hauled his attacker into the nearest wall. Slammed a spinning kick into his temple before taking on the next. Acquired a hunting knife from one of the men’s belt before taking him down. He took on the next, and then the next, ducking and slashing and kicking.

‘ _Lancelot, Galahad, new movement on the roof_.’

‘I’m on it,’ Eggsy gritted out, before delivering a final decisive blow to his opponent’s cervical spine. Quickly he frisked the unconscious man and found a Glock, fully loaded. Grabbed the spare magazine as well and headed for the stairs. ‘Lance you alright?’

‘ _I’m fine, go_ go!’

He bound up three steps at a time, pounding his already broken ankle. He encountered no more hostile company. He quickly found out why, when he burst out onto the roof in time to watch a helicopter lifting off into the night.

He considered a running leap, then remembered his busted foot. Considered aiming at the rotors, then remembered their hostage. In the end he simply watched it glide away from his grasp.

After slumping down five flights of steps he found Lancelot neatly tying up the rest of the men. She frowned when she saw him, a blood streak drying across his lens and hobbling on one foot.

‘You hurt?’

‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

More pressingly, the men had gotten away. Eggsy swept a hand over his tired eyes. ‘Let’s sweep the rest of the building.’

It became apparent that the building used to be a safe house, with food supplies tucked away in dry areas and some threadbare mattresses in some room.

Nothing prepared them for the catastrophe that awaited them on the top floor.

The sight that greeted them nearly made him lose his lunch. Hold yourself together, he scolded himself. He’d be damned if he would throw up in front of Lancelot.

Their target was still in the building after all, but reduced to a bubbling mess of charred flesh tied down to a chair. His features were almost completely melted to gaping holes in his face, as were his clothes. The sickening stench of barbecued meat hit his nose.

‘Merlin are you reading this?’ Lancelot struggled to stay all business, but her voice wavered a little.

‘Unfortunately yes.’ He sounded just as affected as the rest of them. ‘Can you positively ID the victim?’

Protocol was protocol. Eggsy watched as Lancelot picked through the body for some form of identification.

‘He must’ve been covered with paraffin and our entrance set the sprinklers off and…’ Lancelot swallowed hard.

Snarling, Eggsy sent a stool splintering against a wall.

‘So close,’ he spat. ‘ _So fucking close._ They weren’t trying to extract information—they wanted him silenced for good.’

‘Eggsy…’ Lancelot stammered, half warning and other half panic.

A ragged, guttural sound came from behind him. Eggsy whipped around, eyed the body, then Lancelot, who reciprocated his rising dread.

‘Well, fuck me.’

Lancelot immediately felt for a pulse, just as Eggsy whipped out his switch blade and began sawing at the nylon ties. Her words tumbled over each other in her haste, ‘Merlin, victim’s still alive. Requesting for urgent transport to nearest facility.’

‘ _Affirmative, operative. Proceed with evacuation_. _An airlift will arrive in two minutes._ ’

‘Where are we heading? To the capital?’ Eggsy asked.

 ‘ _No!_ ’ Merlin’s curt reply came immediately. Both of them stilled, stunned momentarily by his unusual admission.

‘No?’ Eggsy echoed incredulously.

‘ _We’re taking him to St Thomas.’_

Lancelot echoed Eggsy’s confusion. ‘In _London_?’

‘ _The very same_ ,’ Merlin confirmed. They listened as a remote operative acknowledged the order. Eggsy glanced at Lancelot, who shrugged. Deciding Merlin needed no further insolence from his end, Eggsy bit away his protests and yanked off his tie to secure the man’s arms to his sides. Together they heaved the Senator out of the room and up the stairs towards the roof, ignoring his pained moans in his ears.

‘Hang in there, sir,’ he coaxed, his words hollow to his own ears. ‘You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.’

The helicopter arrived soon enough, in typical Kingsman efficiency. ‘ _You’ll be transferred to the nearest airstrip where a 737 will be awaiting you_ ,’ Merlin informed, as they strapped the stretcher in. ‘ _And Eggsy?_ ’

‘Yeah,’ he grunted distractedly as he yanked the door close, then gave the pilot a thumb’s up.

‘ _Something’s come up_.’

 _Please don’t tell me I accidentally left the oven on_.

‘Yeah bruv?’

‘ _It’s, uh, it’s about your mother_.’


	2. The first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some strong language ahead, with hints at violence. Taking things slowly right now in hopes to establish the characters, especially the OC. I'm also still trying to figure out my narrative style...not beta-ed I'm afraid, so suggestions and feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading. x

When Daphne met the Unwin kid for the first time, it was not under the most pleasant of circumstances. Truly, in her line of work, there rarely ever was a pleasant circumstance for a first meeting. When the Unwin kid stormed into the ward demanding to see his mother, Daphne had firmly planted herself in his path and ordered him to the waiting room. Repeated affirmations finally subdued him enough to be led out to some empty couches, some outdated magazines and a minibar.

‘If I was at home, none of this would happen—’

He restlessly paced the room, while Daphne quietly busied herself with preparing some instant coffee in little foam cups. She left his on the table on a square of serviette, and sipped at her own. Thin and poorly sweetened. This was going to be a long night.

‘Did she say what happened?’

Daphne kept her tone sympathetic. ‘She only asked for you.’

Her initial assessment told her he was about her age, rather decently groomed denoting a background of notable profession, and sharply dressed for a young man. Immaculate build suggested an active lifestyle, some form of athleticism. He kept his hair in a plain tapered crew cut, like a military man. She suspected he had a gift for being instantly likeable, but in the present circumstance he was nothing but live nerves fraying in all directions. His disciplined RP gave way to an animated provincial Londoner accent, gobbling the butts of his words as he struggled to contain his—what was it? Anxiety? Anger? Guilt?

‘How bad are her injuries?’

‘We will know in a bit,’ Daphne promised. ‘I’m sorry I can’t provide more.’ She decided it might help to divert his attention. ‘I called the number your neighbour gave me. A gentleman answered.’

‘Yeah.’ Clearly he wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He was getting more restless by the minute, rubbing the back of his neck, clenching and unclenching his fists. His mind was elsewhere. Finally, without even a pip of acknowledgement, he exited the room. Daphne dumped the untouched coffee and went back to work.

She checked in on Mrs Unwin every 2 hours, but there were never time for a proper conversation. She found her awake, but only a brief exchange of pleasantries before Daphne was called away to an emergency. The upside was that Unwin slept soundly, with all the uncomfortable signs of the withdrawal finally subsiding by the next day. Injuries were at most trivial, bruises over bony areas, a moderate-sized hematoma in her hip which, after a series of ultrasounds, they decided did not require evacuation. Satisfied, Daphne tried Mr Unwin’s personal number, but it led her directly into voicemail. Guess she’ll just have to catch him in person. Hopefully tomorrow.

The next day, she arrived for her shift in the middle of a maelstrom.  The operator sounded frantic over the hospital broadcast, barking for the first and second trauma unit, Anaesthesia, ENT and dental team.

A quick data system check at the nearest vacant workstation revealed six alleged assault cases checking into the emergency department with broken noses and fractured jaw bones. It screamed criminal case all over it. In short, not her department. This was the receiving doctor’s mess. Still, she made a short detour to the ED just to check in the situation.

Her fellow resident, Joseph, or as they fondly called him, Skinny Joe, was frantically coordinating the teams while tending to a dislocated shoulder. His patient, a young urban punk swathed in a cervical collar, hung his head back trying to breathe through the dried blood in his nose. He moaned every time Joe prodded his shoulder joint.

‘Get out while you can, Greene. We can handle this one. Some back street scuffle again; you know these young brutes. The boys in blue are on their way here to record their statements.’

‘I’ve got ten minutes before my shift starts.’ Daphne raised her voice to be heard above the colourful curses flung at the walls when Joe accidentally bumped the trolley, jolting the dislocated joint. She inspected the pile of hastily scribbled forms abandoned on the patient’s table. ‘Want me to fill these out?’

‘You’re the bee’s knees, love.’ She settled down in the nearest stool and got down to work, before Joe continued, ‘Say, aren’t you on call tonight?’

‘Third time this week,’ she confirmed, her shoulders slumping.

He gave a low whistle, shaking his head. ‘I swear Greene if you keep this up you’re going to get an angina by thirty-five.’

‘I might be able to delay that a bit if they would stop assigning me and Boscombe together,’ she muttered. The animosity between the two was a source of much amusement to the staff.

‘Say, why don’t you ask Brandon when I can claim that drink he owe me?’

She smiled. ‘Ask him yourself when he comes by tomorrow.’ She swore as her pen bit down too hard on the paper and left a jagged tear, just as the boy on the trolley let another pitiful moan.

‘You might want to bump him up a bit,’ she suggested. ‘5 milligrams would do.’

‘Hey, hey go easy innit!’

Joe wasn’t having any of that. ‘I would if you chav scums would stop banging yourself up like that.’ He gave another merciless prod.

The man Joe was attending to looked like he wanted to take a fist to Joe’s head, if his shoulder wasn’t at his mercy. Just next to him, the boy stooped over a basin holding an ice pack to his broken nose, gestured rudely, rambling, ‘It wos that Snow White greeb tosser Eggsy yeah! One minnit we and my bruvs be nickin’ our fags and mining our own biz yeah, then chief cums in and bust our dicks over nothing, yeah!’

His angry rant seemed to fuel his fellow scallies on. ‘We gonna spark out that shit hole! Bang that fuckwit down like a back alley.’

‘Bruv you should’ve shived him when you had the chance,’ a thin voice sounded muffled by stuffed gauze called over the cubicle partition.

 ‘Save your statements for the feds, won’t you?’ Shaking his head, Joe glanced at Daphne meaningfully. ‘Nurses said we ran out of sedatives a couple of hours ago. Wouldn’t be restocking until this afternoon.’

‘A shame,’ Daphne agreed. She was used to these scallies running their mouths, but it didn’t stop them from giving her a pounding headache. In the end, with their combined manpower and two unsuspecting and roped-in interns, they managed to reset his shoulder in time for the coppers to arrive.

When she finally checked into her ward, her head was ringing anew with fresh curses flung in vain at the walls and barely understandable chav speak. A name banged around the insides of her skull like a particle in Brownian movement. Not the least because she had seen that unusual name before. With renewed curiosity, and just a bit of reluctance, she brought up Michelle Unwin’s patient records. Skimmed through the lines that dragged on, until her eyes fell on the contact details and…

 _Huh_.

Feeling rather scandalized, she glanced over to Room 12, and could not believe her stroke of luck.

Her patient wasn’t alone.

The Unwin kid stood by the window, gazing at the bustling streets below, lost in thought. He looked comfortable in a white cotton shirt starched stiff and buttoned neatly at the wrists, coat draped over a nearby couch, hands tucked into his navy blue wool-flannel trousers. One of those lunch hour visits. The more she looked, the better-looking he became, she thought as she ran an appreciative eye over his athletic form. There was something pleasing about a man who bothered to look nice.

As if sensing her attention, he turned. His mouth twitched into a disarming grin.

The term _convenient target_ rose unbidden. And he _was_ quite a target, she thought as she found her cheeks flushing under his attention. Except there was nothing convenient about finding the soon-to-be primary suspect in a violent multiple assault case waiting in your patient’s room.

What a shame they found themselves in such a sticky situation. He looked like someone she would very much want to get to know.

‘Good morning, doctor.’

‘You’re positively chipper today, Mr Unwin.’

‘Please, it’s Eggsy.’

Straight from the horse’s mouth.

‘Fancy name,’ she commented lightly, offering an overly bright smile while the cogwheels in her brain clunked into motion. ‘Safe to say I haven’t heard it before. Why Eggsy?’

He shrugged carelessly. ‘I don’t know. It’s something that stuck from babyhood. Something about the shape o’ my head.’ He gave her a dimpled smile so trusting that she almost regretted what she intended to do next. Hastily, she dragged her eyes off him and focused on a small bouquet of white garlic blossoms on the bedside. _Focus._

‘Listen,’ he continued, ‘about that day—’

‘It’s fine.’

He paused. ‘It’s…fine?’

‘You have excellent hearing, Mr Unwin. That’s what I said.’

‘Eggsy, please,’ he insisted. ‘So…we’re cool?’

‘Yeah.’ Lingering on the matter would only make it awkward. She held up the charts in her arm. ‘I’m glad to see you again, because I need to speak to you about something. May we discuss this in private?’

‘Of course.’ He allowed her to lead him to an adjoining room, nothing elaborate, a space of respite catered to families of patients. She lowered herself into the nearest cushion chair.

Eggsy gestured at the opposite couch. ‘May I?’

‘Please.’ _No lip no sass, no lip no sass_ , she reminded herself. She waited until he made himself comfortable. She quietly studied the young man, doing her best to correlate his actual person to the information she had gathered previously.

According to the elderly neighbour who had called the ambulance in the first place, Michelle Unwin was chronically unemployed with a slight alcohol issue and defaulted therapy while juggling an on-and-off relationship with an abusive partner and his equally brutish friends. Clearly this did not sit well with her strong-willed son. Often Mrs Unwin left her toddler daughter, Daisy, with her neighbour for days on end. Sometimes Eggsy would appear and bring Daisy out to the park. Still, quite often he too would disappear for long stretches of time, operating some big profitable venture by the look of his shiny new motorcycle and spanking new clothes.

‘I have information I would like to draw your attention to,’ she informed. She kept her voice neutral. ‘Some good, some not-so-favourable.’

She yanked out a film and held it up to the light. ‘Know what this is?’

‘The negatives for my upcoming major screen debut?’

She stifled a smile. ‘Unfortunately no, although that would be interesting to see. It’s your mother’s CT scan. Basically it means your mum doesn’t have any internal injuries we have to worry about.’

He nodded, a tiny crease of concern between his eyebrows easing. ‘Safe.’

‘The good news, Eggsy, is that your mother is making a splendid recovery. She woke up yesterday and her breathing efforts have improved, so we took her off the ventilator. My nurse is happy to inform me that she took a few good steps out of bed this morning.’ She gave the charts a perfunctory glance through, more to channel her growing restlessness than to gain any useful information.

‘The not-so-good news, however, is that we found slightly alarming levels of certain substances in her urine toxicology test.’ She watched his face carefully as he processed this new information. ‘These substances were undoubtedly what rendered her unconscious in the first place.’

‘What sort of substance, Doctor?’ he kept his tone to one of casual disinterest, but his eyes tightened ever so slightly, deepening the hollows under his eyes. For a moment, Daphne hesitated. Perhaps this was not such a good idea.

He must’ve sensed her indecision, for he sat forward now, eyes imploring. ‘Please, I must know.’

Daphne realized there really wasn’t any easier way to do this easily. ‘Well, there was a considerable amount of heroin. We also found benzodiazepines…they are essentially relaxants, commonly used to treat insomnia, anxiety disorders. Taken in high doses, it can depress a person’s breathing efforts, which is what occurred in Mrs Unwin’s case. Some use them recreationally, especially with alcohol—’

She fell silent as he stood up and went to the window. His face was carefully composed, even as he folded an arm across the chest and brought the other to his lips in silent contemplation.

‘Sir,’ Daphne proceeded gently, ‘were you aware of this matter?’

‘Dr Greene,’ Eggsy began earnestly. ‘You have to believe me when I say that my mum… she might have cocked up a bit and made quite a dog’s dinner of her life. There were definitely some poor choices—and if you would give me time you’ll understand why—but she would _never_ go anywhere near drugs.’

‘Mr Unwin…these substances are considered illegal.’

He whipped around suddenly, like a panther snapping to attention. Every muscle in his body was tense and without a word he communicated his burning disapproval, despite his appearance of cold, calculated calm. ‘It won’t happen again,’ he promised curtly. ‘I can assure you that.’

The sense of self-assured certainty he conveyed in those words was more than enough to cement her initial suspicion. Steeling herself for his reaction, she delivered her accusation without further embellishment.

‘Then I suppose I have you to thank for putting those six kids in my trauma ward downstairs?’

She kept her tone light, non-accusing, but the sudden veer in their conversation stole the carefully crafted disinterest from his eyes. She mentally rolled her sleeves, and pressed on her assault, ‘You may have heard of their names. Alfie Jones, Jonny Callum, Max Harvey, Toby Finley, Billy Jay…and Dean Baker.’

He was doing a marvellous job keeping his expression coolly composed.

‘I like a little napalm in the morning once in a while, Doctor, but I'm not sure where you're going with this.’

 _Would that I did_ , she thought.

‘Mr. Unwin, there are few things in life that I am certain about, yet right now I am quite convinced that having six full grown adults naming the same person responsible for their broken jaws and wrists is _not_ a singular coincidence.’ _And an incredible feat_ , she added silently, regarding his slight frame and wondering if it was too outlandish to believe this person could single-handedly take out half a dozen able-bodied men. 

Despite her open accusation, his brow dipped into a frown designed to convey open puzzlement. Done with the preamble, then.

‘Assault is a very serious crime, Mr. Unwin.’

She paused when his demeanor shifted, his spine impossibly straight, his initial warmth quickly dissipating replacing with a glacial stare. She knew then that she was finally getting a glimpse of that something underneath that was far more dangerous than the innocent and perfectly honed outward appearance initially suggested.

 _Easy now_ …

'Why are you telling me this, Doctor?'

She kept her tone gentle. 'I simply want to get to the truth.'

'You want the truth, Doc? Let me deliver it to you. My mum is innocent. I know it. I know _her_. She got drugged by them wankers, that’s what happened.  They simply wouldn’t leave her alone, especially that Dean.’ He spat out that last name like a bitter seed. ‘Look now, I don’t give a  _toss_  if you want me to do bird for assault, Doctor, but my ma, she can’t fend for herself out there, and, and Daisy…’

He was so wrapped up by the charges against his mother he completely dismissed his own, Daphne realized. He was definitely angry now. She felt the full force of his anger. She struggled to maintain her façade of controlled calm and letting him know that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him. She would be lying if she said she felt no fear. There really was no doubting what he was capable of.

Nevertheless, she fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest, and refused, through sheer stubbornness, to show how much she wanted to retreat from this confrontation she brought upon herself.

His tone was cold, challenging. ‘Look, Doctor, you gonna rat me out to the feds? Well go ahead. Don’t let me stop you from doing your job.’

It was time to end this, this situation she had brought upon herself. But she was pleased, very pleased. His response was all she wanted to hear.

‘Rat you out?' She scoffed, a sound so out of place even to her own ears. 'Too much work. I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else to do that.’

A pause, as if the realization was just beginning to sink in. ‘You mean you won’t? Why not?’

‘Because if I were in your shoes, Eggsy, I probably would’ve done the same.’

The silence that followed was more than enough for Daphne. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the turn of events as much as he was left speechless by it.  

‘We will review your mother again later in the evening. If all goes well, she is free to check out in the morning.’ She paused when the hospital operator announced, “ _Trauma to red zone, please_ ” just as his phone went off simultaneously. He blinked, as if snapped out of a daze, then turned to answer it. She seized her chance. Time to leave.

‘Dr Greene.’

She was just beyond the door now, but allowed herself one last glance back. 'Yep?'

Eggsy looked every inch bewildered as he sounded. He held the phone over the mouthpiece. ‘So...I’m free to go? You ain't gonna cuff me or anythin'?’

‘Do I look like a copper to you?’ She shook her head. Eggsy was like the house dog who was unleashed for the first time and was unsure what to do with his new found freedom. ‘Ground floor’s crawling with feds, though. Exit 2 at the end of the ward leads down to the back alley. You should be able to slip out unnoticed.’

When he didn’t move, she sighed impatiently. 'Anything else you need, Eggsy?'

'Yeah, I mean no, no, I'm good.' He cleared his throat. Clearly he was still trying to make heads or tails of his new found freedom. 'You don't owe me anything.'

'No, you owe _me_ ,' she agreed.

'That's not what I meant. What I meant was, you didn't need to help me, but you did.' 

'If what you said about Mrs Unwin was true...well, then she'd be needing you by her side, don't you think?' She gestured at his phone, reminding him that he was keeping the caller waiting. 'Just stay out of trouble, okay? Don't make me regret this.'

'You won't,' Eggsy promised quickly. 'Thank you.'

Satisfied, she left with the nagging feeling that they would meet again, although under what circumstance, only time would tell. 

 


	3. Coping mechanism, p.1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little long, so I'm splitting it into two chapters. Hope you don't mind. Things are finally picking up slightly. Many thanks to the kind reviewers. Feedback is always welcomed and immensely appreciated! Thanks for reading.
> 
> Warning for some mild language.

The sky was already threatening to pour. Eggsy hoped to make it back to HQ in time for the briefing, but the cab headed the opposite direction, towards central London. A bulb on the lacquered panel flashed. An incoming call. The screen flickered on, displaying Merlin looking not too pleased.

‘ _Eggsy. The meeting starts in ten minutes. Where the heck you at?_ ’

He winced at his clipped tone. ‘Sorry, boss, gotta run. I just remembered—my mum’s coming outta hospital today. I gotta bring ‘er home. In-and-out, just business. Won’t take a minute.’

‘ _And what about that prototype you promised to test out afterwards? Are you taking a rain check for that too?'_

Damn Merlin. He knew Eggsy would never pass up an opportunity to test out his new toys. ‘I’ll be back by then,’ he promised.

‘ _Anyway, since you’re heading there, why don't you have a look at our Senator? Last we checked, he already had one boot firmly planted into the ground_.’

‘Yeah aight.’ He slowed as a realization hit him. ‘Hold up,’ he said, stopping Merlin from ending the transmission. ‘You sent the Senator in St Thomas. You sent _my mum_ in St Thomas.’ His tone cut with accusation. ‘What are you playing at?’

‘ _I was going to explain in our meeting. Looks like that would have to wait, so get your mum out and hurry the fuck back_.’

 

***

 

She was cutting a path through the crowd with brisk steps, face buried in an opened file. She was attractive, like a flame was attractive. One look told him she was all about practicality; she eschewed any make up, and instead applied just enough around her eyes to avoid being mistaken as an extra from _Shaun of the Dead_. The crumpled standard issued scrubs she wore dwarfed her shoulders.

Out of habit his eyes dropped to her hand. No ring. Well that wasn’t helpful, he told himself. Doctors never wore rings. Infection control issues. He couldn't see if she had any on a chain around her neck, either. 

A greasy lock of red hair fell over her eyes. Impatiently she tucked it aside.

‘Wow. Don’t they ever let you out of here?’

She seemed surprised to see him there. Squinting at him through tired eyes, as if trying to remember where she’s seen him, then her gaze sharpened. Just as quickly she recovered her step, and her tongue.

‘Sorry sir, prison visiting hours are weekdays 0830 to 1100 hours and 1500 to 1730 hours.’

In his earpiece, Merlin chuckled. Eggsy glanced around, as if making sure no one was listening, then he leaned closer to whisper, ‘And what about conjugal visits?’

She smirked at his blatantly lewd suggestion. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with the CO about that.’

He eyed the stack of reports in her arms, wondering if he should offer to carry them. ‘You look busy.’

‘That’s because I am, Eggsy.’

‘The Senator must’ve been a handful, I bet.’

Her gaze snapped up to his, narrowing. ‘What do you know about the Senator?’

Eggsy shrugged, dipping into the façade of a snooping citizen. ‘It’s all over the news, and the reporters wrestling with security outside were a dead giveaway.’

‘I suppose you used that moment of distraction to sneak your way in,’ she guessed. ‘Seeing that you’re on first name basis with the local police I’m surprised they haven’t found you yet.’

‘Yeah well someone’s gotta pick up my mum,’ he pointed out. He noted she was being evasive talking about the Senator. They were all like that when it came to celebrity patients. So he would have to visit the Senator himself later. 'So she's good to go, right, I mean my mum?'

'She is, although you should speak to the doctor on duty about her. I'm rotated to the HDU today.'

'Can't I just talk to you?'

'Why?'

Eggsy shrugged. 'The doctor on duty didn't look like he liked me very much, and you're a lot more fun to talk to.'

She looked like she was about to protest, a retort ready. Then she sighed. 'Give me five minutes, okay?'

He followed her to the nurse's station, where she dug through several files. Filled in some forms and signed off several documents. Bills, medical reports, insurance claim reports, discharge forms, memos to the GP. Bound it all in a neat little folder and handed it to him. ‘We’ll be happy to see Mrs Unwin again in a week’s time in the clinic, just to see how things are going.’

Before he could say thank you, she was off in the opposite direction, a streak of speed and energy.  _She walked surprisingly fast for a girl_ , he thought as he quickened his pace to match hers.

‘And maybe dinner after that?’ he suggested. Mentally he winced at the overly bright tone. _Don’t sound too eager_.

‘ _Cheap shot, Eggsy_ ,’ Merlin remarked, clearly enjoying eavesdropping their conversation. Eggsy resisted the urge to terminate the transmission.

Daphne seemed to agree, although she had no idea they were being listened upon. ‘Try harder, Unwin.’

‘Aight. Here.’ He stepped in front, blocking her path. He reached into a pocket and drew out a quarter. ‘Call it.’

‘Gary Unwin, are we going to toss on a dinner date?’ Daphne folded her arms, letting her disbelief show. He was definitely pushing her patience. His game simply wasn't on today, but he had to try. 

‘You’ve done this before?’

Shaking her head at just how ballsy he was, she gave a small shrug, not caring. ‘Heads,’ she decided, just as he deftly caught the quarter before it hit the ground.

When he revealed his hand, she smiled. ‘I was half expecting you to cheat.'

'Yeah well I'm an honest man, Dr Greene.' He didn't bother disguising his disappointment. Seeing his crestfallen face, Daphne laughed and gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat.

'Better luck next time, Unwin.’ She waved him away before he could protest any further. ‘Later, pretty boy.’

 

***

 

It was raining again. That steady, unrelenting type that turned the hospital grounds into moats. That kind that clogged up the hospital corridors with patients and visitors because they couldn’t leave without getting soaked to the skin. That kind that left slippery, muddy stains on the pristine polished finish turning wards into water slides.

Daphne officially completed the discharge forms for Michelle Unwin that morning, under some duress thanks to her rather persuasive son, but she implored the older woman to stay until the downpour had eased somewhat. The last thing she wanted was Michelle returning with a fractured hip bone from slipping on the pavement. Michelle was persistent, insisting that she had to get back to her daughter. Clearly she missed her very much, and had addled much of her better sense, Daphne thought tiredly as she glanced at the clock wondering where Eggsy was, hoping he could knock some sense into his mother’s head.

‘Take my umbrella, at least,’ she finally said, pushing said object into her hands and turning away before she could decline. She had no time to argue over an umbrella, not today.

Michelle mentioned nothing of her son, the person who made all the major decisions for her when she was mentally incapable of them, who dropped by her room almost every evening. To her puzzlement, Daphne never saw him again after their brief exchange. Michelle wasn’t even aware that her son had dropped by to pick her up. When Daphne checked in on her an hour later, she was gone. She could only assume Eggsy brought her home.

She checked in on the Senator, making sure that his tracheal tube was still in place and that wasn’t running a fever from aspiration pneumonia. Flowers with well wishes cards attached to them flooded the room from floor to ceiling. Daphne caught the ICU nurse as she was passing. ‘Would you remove these, please? Someone might trip over them and land on all the lines. Also we don’t know if Mr. Oscar has a pollen allergy.’

The nurse was clearly new to the department. She balked at her order. ‘But, then where do I put them?’

‘Hand it to over to Oncology,' she suggested. 'Instruct the medical students rotated there to help you redistribute them.’ She plucked the card from the nearest bouquet. ‘And remember to remove these first. Don't worry, flowers are the last thing on Mr Oscar's mind right now.’

The nurse’s eyes fell to her ID. ‘You’re Dr Greene from Anaesthesia?’

‘The very same.’

‘Professor Cleverley was looking for you all morning. We tried paging you many times.’

Daphne scowled. Her ancient pager was acting up again like an old hip. She really needed to get it replaced. Maybe she’d put it on the annual staff Christmas wish list. ‘Sorry, I was caught up in an emergency trachy in Medical.’ _As well as a rather fetching gentleman_ , she added silently, almost smiling at the memory of that cheeky coin toss. ‘Thanks for the heads up.’

She hurried over to the staff office. Checked her hair and face in the reflective announcement boards before knocking. The door announced _Professor Dr Peter Cleverley_ _Department of Intensive Care and Anaesthesia._

His secretary admitted her, and before long Cleverley himself joined her at the sitting table. The elderly man was twitchy, like an ostrich was twitchy, with the same near baldness. She sensed his rheumatic eyes roving over her. Her shift was nearing its end; she wasn’t exactly in her most presentable form. ‘Busy call,’ she supplied as an explanation for her less than appealing appearance. ‘Someone kept pulling his ET out. We gave him enough sedative to knock out a whale.’

‘Ah yes, the Senator, our resident celebrity. But that’s not why I called you here. I wanted to talk to you about the position you applied for.’

‘Yes.’ So that was what this was about. Her promotion. She took a few deep breaths to calm her fluttering nerves. _No reason to be jumpy now_ , she told herself. _He is going to deliver the good news, and you can finally open that bottle of champagne you got for your birthday_.

‘Truth is, Dr Greene, you’re the best we’ve got.’

 _Then give me the job already_. ‘Thank you.’

‘No, let me finish.’ He cleared his throat. She tried to suppress the strange feeling that things weren’t going as smooth as she always imagined promotions to be. ‘As I was saying, I could see no better candidate for the program. At least, not before this arrived just this morning.’

She yanked her gaze from his carefully blank expression to the torn envelope he took from his inside pocket. Alarms clanged and screamed in her head. ‘What’s that?’

‘You’ve been subpoenaed,’ Cleverley stated bluntly.

She stared at him open-mouthed. Her thoughts swirled, her breaths shallow. There was nothing that could have prepared her for _this_. ‘Subpoenaed? _By who?_ ’

‘Rita Assurances. Your former patient, Mike Fieldings, is their client. They’re suing you for tampering with medical records.’

The shock could not be worse than getting doused by ice water.

‘Mike Fieldings? Who—’

‘Mr Fieldings was involved in a vehicle accident six months ago. You verified that his toxicology result was normal, but fed reports dated a day later documented he was under amphetamine influence at the time of the accident.’

‘Amphetamines.’ Daphne couldn’t believe how spectacularly she has messed up. Her mistake bordered on amateurish. Shoddy. Amphetamines took three weeks to clear from the urine. There was _no_ way to win this.

‘I need a lawyer,’ she gasped.

Cleverley folded his arthritic fingers together and studied her. ‘You can find a lawyer once we're done here, but I'm sure you understand our dilemma.’

Her gaze snapped back to him, narrowing. She had been waiting for this promotion for two years. She didn’t come all this way to be told to turn around and go home. ‘This changes nothing.’

‘Dr Greene, I can assure you, this changes everything.’

‘Couldn’t you at least hold the promotion until the case is settled?’

‘The issue here isn’t the trial, Daphne,’ Cleverley interjected, a hard edge to his words. ‘The issue here is that you don’t even bother denying these charges to _me_ , your senior supervisor. And…we can’t promote a criminal.’

This was spiralling southwards so fast she could barely feel the ground. Bending patient records happened more often in hospitals in a day than the number of accidents on the road. Just her rotten luck she had to be caught doing it.

‘My supervisor, Dr. Mallorie, she said in her recommendation that my work is decent at the very least—’

‘Daphne,’ Cleverley cut in gently. ‘We aren’t exactly looking for _decent_.’

‘Sir, I have been nothing but industrious—’

‘And that may well be your problem,’ Professor Cleverley chided, unapologetic but not unkindly. ‘Also, the Board of Directors expressed some…concern over your activities during your placement in Somalia.’

She felt her blood run cold, as old ghosts and memories resurfaced, unbidden, like a stick agitating a riverbed. Taking a deep breath, she graced him with a sweeter-than-saccharine smile, a hand-me-down from her Aunt Selma, who imbued her with the art of passive aggression from a young age. She would _not_ stoop so low.

‘Professor Oakland promised it would not be an issue in my consideration.’

‘Professor Oakland was not on the Board,’ he reminded.

It had been three years since she closed the lid on the unfortunate incident in Somalia. She wasn’t going to dust the lid and open it now. Not now, not _ever_. She was already thoroughly screwed anyway.

‘If there is nothing else, professor, I would like to return to my work now.’

By the time Daphne made it back to the ward she was white knuckled with fury. Word, of course, had spread like wild fire that Daphne was side-lined for the coveted program. It gave her a meagre comfort that most in her department had deemed her their favourite to win, but she refused to discuss with anyone what happened in Cleverley’s office.

She thought to protect Fieldings. The single father of two was repentant of his actions, and needed the money to afford rehabilitation and the car repairs. The simple ‘oversight’ in her medical report was just an innocent favour on her part. Knowing a seeming harmless omission in the past had turned around and bit her in the ass…it made her blood boil.

And how _dare_ he bring up her past.

Maria, her senior nurse trainer, asked with concern if she wanted a drink. She did want one, badly, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of beverage available in the hospital pantry.

‘I’m fine,’ she bit out. Twenty more minutes and she would be out of here. Thank God for small mercies.

The wind bit at her heels, as the skies threatened to open up and pour again. She quickened her pace, not wanting to arrive home sodden, but she wasn’t exactly wholeheartedly keeping to the covered walkways either. Usually weather like that kept her indoors until she secured an umbrella from an incoming colleague reporting for duty, or until her rumbling stomach became too stinging to ignore.

But today…well, today she just couldn’t stay in the hospital a minute longer than needed.

Today was supposed to be life-changing. The herald of a new era in her life, where she would gain new goals in life and pledge to see them to fulfilment. She had emerged from her usual jaded self to mentally ready herself to rise to the occasion once it arrived.

It was actually one of the few things she sincerely, _desperately_ wanted in life, and she was willing to do anything to get it. She braved the battery of interviews with the panel of directors hoping to secure the position. Mingled with the right people at the New Year Eve party to put herself on the map. Doing overtime in order to complete the required training prerequisites way earlier than the stipulated deadline.

What she did not prepare herself for was what to do if her plan fell through.

To be so carelessly brushed aside simply because of... _stop thinking about it,_ she scolded herself. Thinking about it only made her chest hurt. And it hurt, _a lot_.

She never shopped when she was emotional. That was a rule. Today an exception, she decided as she pushed past the doors of the local grocer. Yanked a few choice items she didn't really need off the shelves before heading to the cashier.

As she dug her purse for the right change, deliberately ignoring the half-opened box of Marlborough Lights, her fingers closed in on a piece, unlike bank notes, that was uncharacteristically smooth to the touch. Puzzled, she drew it out. Unmarked stationery, probably torn from a pocket notebook, with a local phone number and no name, scribbled with a penmanship that she did not recognize nor recall.

 _Well, well_.

Without another deliberation, she paid up her purchases and practically _ran_ home.

She swept into her home, nearly tripping over Pilot in her haste. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. The collie cocked his head watching her.

It was only befitting her misfortune for the day that half of the egg carton she bought was smashed on the way in, leaking albumin over everything else in her bag. But she forgot to be mad. Grabbed her kitchen phone. Wondering what to expect as she punched in the numbers.

The dial tone drawled out several beeps before giving way to an abrupt silence, and the curiously loud pounding in her ears. Then, a deep, self-assured male voice, stippled with Scottish cadence, answered cheerfully, ‘Evenin’.’

Daphne waited, waited for that click of recognition. It never came.

She was surprised at how disappointed she felt.

‘Hi, um, I found a slip of paper in my purse with your number on it.’

There was a pause, then, ‘Ay, this is Eggsy Unwin's phone number, but he cannot come to the phone now; he’s attending to a customer. This one is a bit of a handful, might take all evening. Can I help you instead?’

Well, well.

This was ridiculous. She was twenty-six, not fifteen and pubertal. She shouldn’t be this thrilled. Instead she should be wondering how he got into her purse in the first place. Her mind wandered briefly to Brandon, and wondered what he’d think of this. 

Fingers drumming the sofa impatiently, nervously, she pressed on.

‘Look, I-I don’t suppose you know if he has any plans tonight?’

‘I dinnae ken—’ Daphne could almost hear him shrug. ‘But I can pass a message if you like.’

‘Well, I’m dropping by the Fat Briar tonight, and…' her thoughts raced, emotions warring. Reason won. 'You know what, forget it. Thanks for your help anyway. Sorry for wasting your time.’

There was a short pause, before the conversation abruptly ended with a polite, ‘Cheers.’

Daphne hung up. Next, she called Bessie, who immediately agreed to see her at eight. Then she called Brandon and left a voice message. Left the broken eggs on the floor for Pilot to lap up and dumped everything else in the bin. Showered off the work grime and picked out her favourite top, a forgiving grey off shoulder sweater and jeans she wore on extra bad days. This was one of those days when it was absolutely warranted. She was in a splendid mood to feel sorry for herself.

And God, when was the last time she laid eyes on those jeans? If she was not wearing a pair of formal slacks, it was sweat pants or pyjamas bottoms. The lack of a social life in the past half a year left her a little consternated. She _really_ needed to get out more.

She gathered her hair off her shoulders in a loose knot, applied some light perfunctory make up and headed out.

The Fat Briar was located two underground stations away, but she chose the long walk. It was a chilly late afternoon in Westminster. The sky was streaked with the cool colours of a Monet paintwork, as she passed the plethora of red buses and black cabs and people heading home. She had no issues with blending into anonymity on the sidewalk; it was liberating, a sensation she unconsciously craved, but could never quite put her finger on. 

The Irish bar was already packed with patrons eager to start the evening early. She eyed the amber liquids that lined the shelves behind the counter—vices she told her patients to avoid.

Bessie was already there, effortlessly getting acquainted with the patrons. Out of all her friends from college, Bessie was the loudest. She lived life toeing the fine line between social butterfly and pathological mania. Even the growing baby bump in her belly failed to dampen her nocturnal mingling, except cutting down on the alcohol.

When Bessie finally noticed her, Daphne was already sipping her first drink. They hugged, before plucking a small spot by the bar.

‘So…’ Daphne started. ‘I didn’t get it.’

‘Oh Daph.’ Bessie shared her disappointment. If there was anyone in the world who would understand, it was Bessie. If there was anyone who knew when not to pry, such as now, it was Bessie.

‘You know what, sod it,’ Daphne picked up her glass. ‘We’re going to have fun tonight, yeah?’

Her head ached from the lack of rest, but the alcohol was slowly working its magic. Soon she was plummeting into an endless pit of sorry-for-myself that she didn’t want to ever crawl out from. _Have fun tonight_. She snorted at her own empty promise and glanced over at Bessie. She was hammering out anecdotes after anecdotes to a rapt crowd of younger men. This was fun alright.

A familiar voice floated out from the incessant buzz of chatter drew her from the mire of her thoughts. She turned in her seat, eyes searching, feeling oddly light headed. _He_ stood just several tables away, leaned over in rapt attention as a woman spoke softly into his ear. He smiled indulgently, then whispered something back, drawing a giggle.

Bessie joined her at the bar. She followed her line of gaze. ‘You checking out the chavs, love?’

‘I’m not checking him out—I know him.’


	4. Coping mechanism p.2

Eggsy wasn’t coming over to talk to her, which was puzzling. It was a miracle she recognized him. He was dressed down in a hooded varsity jacket and a ridiculous sports cap. He looked completely at home with the kids that hugged the sidewalk churning out grime music and murdering the English language. 

She turned back to the bar, heart hammering and feeling…just a tad bit let down. So he came, but not for her. Her initial thrill nose dove so hard into the counter, coming away with a battering disappointment that was all too familiar to her. After all, she only experienced it a few hours ago.

 _Oh Daph…_ her inner voice snickered. _Self-pity becomes you._

She would love for Bessie to stay, but her friend was again drawn away by a crowd she was friendly with. Seemed like everyone was friendly with someone in this joint. A pitiful testament to her neglected social life. 

Realizing she was drifting down that path of self-pity again, she pushed those thoughts away. She should get going. 

‘Now you _definitely_ look like someone I used to know.’

And then there he was, dimpled smile at the ready. Despite her sullen state it hard not to grin back at him.

He would never know how chuffed she was to see him.

Daphne set her glass down. ‘Let me guess. Old girlfriend?’  

‘Yeah, but you can’t be. She’s doing life in the St. Thomas penitentiary.’

She snorted. Working in the hospital sometimes did feel like she was serving jail time. ‘Maybe she finally broke out.’

Eggsy appeared unconvinced. ‘She’s not that resourceful. I’d help her out, you know, but it’s just this restraining order thing.’

He pointed at her empty glass, then gestured at the bartender for one more round. His eyes returned to hers, playful and inquisitive, dark and spicy. 

‘Thanks for saving my seat.’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Is that so? I can’t imagine why else you’d be sitting alone.’ He hopped up the bar stool. Braced one foot against the floor. ‘I’m sorry the lady had to wait.’

‘I wasn’t.’ Daphne said again, almost defensively. _Calm down_ , she told herself. _He won’t bite_. She pointedly slid the note with his number on it across the counter towards him, just as a fresh round of chilled light beer arrived. In response, he but placed her glass over the note and slid it right back to her.

‘Keep it. You’ll need it again.’

‘Technically one doesn’t wait if there were no intended commitments,’ she pointed out, referring to his previous statement.

‘But wasn’t that why you called?’ Eggsy took a swing from his glass and grunted appreciatively. ‘Splendid location for the evening, by the way.’

‘There was no name attached to that number,’ Daphne reminded. ‘I wasn’t looking specifically for you.’

‘You told my colleague—after finding out who that number belonged to—that you were _hanging out at Fat Briar tonight_. Those were precisely your words.’ He grinned. ‘Surely my mom’s doctor wouldn’t call to inform me of her evening plans for nothing.’

‘I figured a man who could break into my locker and into my purse without anyone noticing would have an interesting story to tell.’

Eggsy leaned forward. ‘I actually thought you’d be a whole lot interesting, you being a doctor un all.’

She wished he would stop calling her doctor. The reminder of the impropriety of the situation stole whatever comfortable amity she enjoyed since his arrival. A proper doctor would stay away from danger zones as these. She ducked her head, training her eyes on her warming beer as she struggled to contain her warring judgment.

‘Look, this isn’t proper at all. This was a mistake. I’m sorry you came all the way here, but I have to go.’ She dug around her bag for her purse, but stopped as she felt him cup her elbow. 

‘I know you think this is very irregular,' Eggsy began, 'but I _really_ want to get to know you, so why don’t we start over like normal people?’

‘You know I have actually heard that line from a movie once,’ Daphne managed a smile at his effort. ‘But I still think this is a bad idea.’

‘I’d agree with you,’ he said quickly as she stood up to leave. He waited until she looked at him expectantly, then finished, ‘…but we’ll both be wrong, so I’m getting us the second round—the third for you—and you’ll talk, and then you can decide if you still think this is a bad idea.’

She considered her options. She could excuse herself now, go home to reruns of Spanish soap opera and maybe watch the news until she fell asleep in front of the telly...or she could be here, with him. 

And she _wanted_ to be here with him.

‘That...depends on the drink.’

‘Now we’re warming up.’ He flashed another grin, then called out, ‘Oy Ted, can we get two Fireballs?’

She laughed. ‘You think a Fireball can get my tongue wagging.’

‘No, I think that talented tongue of yours would juggle than actually downing that shit. Fifty says you can’t take it.’

She crossed her arms. ‘You think I can’t do it.’

‘It’s alright, doll.’ This time his smile bordered on challenging. ‘Admitting is the first step in the right direction.’

Daphne, against her better judgment, sat back down. Another ten minutes, and then she’s leaving. ‘Why do you even think I’m here to talk?’

‘Because you look awful,’ he announced bluntly.

Daphne rolled her eyes. ‘Thank you, that’s a very nice thing to say.’

A woman chose that moment to interrupt then, and Eggsy immediately snapped to attention. Instead of feeling affronted being so easily dismissed, she took the chance sit back and generously study her new acquaintance.

On the surface he was a visual feast. There was no denying that much. Lips curved just slightly, a visual shorthand for genteelness, reliability and, if it was not too much to admit, a considerable degree of sensuality. His eyes, indulgent and expressive, were perhaps her personal favourite feature. Hard edges over his cheeks and jaw, hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes where she imagined his baby fat used to be…indicators of hard manual labour, or physical fitness, which was a curious find in an immaculately dressed gentleman such as himself.

If Eggsy knew she was checking him out, he gave no indications of it.

Their fiery concoctions arrived, just as Eggsy’s companion left. Eggsy flashed an equally scorching grin, a dare dancing in his eyes, then with a dramatic flourish he downed the shot. Allowed himself a cough before recovering his breath. 

Daphne gave a cautious sniff. Her eyes watered. 

He sensed her hesitation and smirked. ‘So you gonna talk or what?’ 

The hell she was backing down from this. Bracing herself, she raised it in a mock toast. 

‘One for the team,’ she said.

It took her five minutes to stop dry hacking, and another five before she could manage a comprehensible word. Her fingers and toes turned to cotton, as the trail of fiery liquor blazed down her throat into a sizzling chasm in her chest. For a moment, she was convinced she could belch flames. In the process of her recovery she completely missed the applause and whoops from those who witnessed her stunt, the enthusiastic most coming from her companion.

‘What a trooper! Two-fucking-hundred points to Gryffindor.’

When he realized she wasn’t going to manage a word anytime soon, he laughed and handed her a napkin to wipe her eyes and nose. ‘How was that?’

‘Spectacular,’ she wheezed.

He grinned. ‘Another round?’

‘Chief you mental?’ Laughing, he ordered a glass of cold milk. Mercifully, it managed to quell the heat somewhat. _Alcohol and milk_ , she thought wryly as she sipped, trying to recover whatever feminine dignity left.

‘How was that?’

‘Well I learned a fun way to murder someone.’

He was closer now, leaning against the counter on one elbow, watching her with an intensity that made heat bloom in her cheeks. It’s the drink, she told herself.

‘I could teach you a few other ways, if you would indulge me.' He waited until she recovered somewhat, then continued, 'So are you ready to talk or what, doc?’

‘On one condition.’ She held up a finger for emphasis. ‘Out here, no more doc. It’s Daphne.’

‘ _Daphneeee_ ,’ he crooned. What the hell was that nervous fluttering in her belly about?  _This fucking drink_ , she thought, _is reducing me to a horny teenager_.

‘Can I call you Daffy?’

‘Like the rapper?’

‘Like the duck.’ He grinned.

She rolled her eyes and decided to let that slide. ‘Second…you’re going to tell me how you got that piece of paper into my bag. Quid pro quo.’

‘I’ll consider it if you’ll spill first.’

That was too slippery a deal for her liking. Eggsy was hell bent on being mischievous and tricky tonight. She wasn’t about to let him through her fingers, so she persisted until he finally relented.

Satisfied, she finally told him everything, from the promotion snub to the subpoena. She, of course, left out that unsavoury bit about Professor Cleverley mentioning her time in Somalia. Even her parents were in the dark about that; there was no way she would spill the beans on that to a complete stranger. 

The milk was making her extremely full, but it was honeyed, just like how her mother used to make it on cold winter nights. The cosy childhood memory coupled with the fiery buzz of the whiskey and her excellent company was enough to make her most relaxed she’s ever been in a long time. She wasn’t even mad about the job snub anymore.

Listening to her story, his expression became oddly troubled. ‘I’m sorry about that job.’

‘Why? It’s not your fault.’

‘Let’s pretend it is. You can take your frustrations out on me and I’m getting us the next round.’

'Take out my frustrations on you?' she echoed, surprising herself with a chuckle. Then realization hit her. ‘You’re beerboarding me,’ she accused. 'You're plying on the alcohol to dig out some secret I'm hiding.'

‘I’m not,’ Eggsy protested. ‘I did promise to spill too, right?’

Before he started, he removed his glasses and tucked them carefully into his jacket. Then he explained how he snuck into the staff lounge and broke into her locker where her bag was kept, all in all a feat that came just under two minutes and without being seen. It was like listening to a magician explaining his trick. It was ridiculously simple, but it took skill and practice for perfect execution. 

‘Where did you learn to do that?’ she demanded.

He shrugged indifference, but he clearly enjoyed her admiration. ‘Growing up in London, you pick up a few skills.’

‘ _I_ didn’t,’ she interjected.

‘You didn’t have to,’ Eggsy corrected. He left it at that, favouring her with a warning look that said, _you don’t wanna know_. She knew he wasn’t some air headed aristocrat, or some street chav. His resourcefulness proved just that. ‘But _why_ did you do it?’

‘I knew a clever girl like you would never return my calls. So I wait’d for you to call me instead.’

His reasoning was, like his trick, ridiculous in its simplicity. She loathed to admit that his observation was near spot on. 

‘I hadn’t the faintest who could be waiting at the end of that dial,’ she reminded. ‘Now that I know, I might never call again.’

‘I know.’ He stared at his trainers, fidgeting with the stretcher on the stool. ‘That’s why I’m enjoying every second tonight while it lasts.’

His earnestness touched her more than she cared to admit. She was used to men being reticent about their feelings, but Eggsy wore his with an honest sincerity that was too endearing for her to bear.

Here she was, getting too deep and inappropriately so. She was a middle-class Londoner disenchanted with life holding down a white collar job that has long lost its lustre. Eggsy…well, it was hard to put her finger on it, but they could not be any more polar opposites. Yet there was an undeniable charm about him that drew her in. 

She sneaked a glance at him, and realized he was studying her closely. Watching her response. _Ball’s in your court,_ his eyes seemed to say. He was letting her decide where to go from here. 

A deep breath to calm her heart. ‘I should get going.’

She knew he got her message. If he was disappointed, he showed no sign of it. He drained his drink. Suddenly the serious Eggsy was gone, replaced by the impish rogue she came to know so well. _This. This I can handle_. ‘So where we heading, your place or mine?’

‘Whoa.’ Laughing. ‘Pull over, son.’

Eggsy gave her his most innocent, confused expression. ‘Is there a problem, officer?’

‘Honey, there’s a speed limit in this state. 60 kilometers per hour.’

‘How fast was I going?’

‘About 100 kilometers.’

‘ _About_ 100 kilometers?’

‘My radar is due for recalibration.’ She shrugged carelessly, drawing a chuckle.

His face fell, suddenly sullen. ‘You gonna give me a ticket, yeah?’

‘I’ll let you off with a slap on the wrist this time.’

Eggsy shook his head. ‘No takers.’

‘Shall I read you your rights then?’

He laughed. ‘I think I might know them better than you do, officer.’

‘Mr. Gary Unwin.’ She crossed her arms in mock dismay. ‘You are painting quite the rascal of yourself.’

He smiled, a half-hearted effort that barely creased his cheeks. ‘I’ve done a lot of things in my life, and I ain’t proud of half of ‘em.’

‘Hey.’

The sudden intrusion was so jarring she jumped a little. Turned around to see Brandon, his barrister robe slung over one arm, large brown eyes assessing Eggsy warily. Eggsy, caught just as off guard as she was, eyeballed him with the same suspicion.

‘I got your message, thought I’d swing by to check on you. Called Bess and she told me you’re here with her. Who’s your new friend?’

She glanced back at Eggsy, feeling a guilty thrill thrum up her spine as he quickly put two and two together. Watched as he flashed a polite thin-lipped smile and stepped back, leaving her feeling the loss of his nearness.

‘Eggsy, this is Brandon. Brandon works at the Bar Council. Eggsy works in one of the shops on Savile Row.’

‘Can’t say I’ve met a real life tailor before,’ Brandon remarked. Without further preamble he turned back to her, dismissing him entirely. ‘You guys looking like you're having a good time.’

‘Actually we’re just leaving, right, Eggsy?’

Eggsy gave a curt nod. ‘Yeah.’

‘I can take you home,’ Brandon offered.

‘You can, but I need to sort out some details in Eggsy’s mom’s care,’ Daphne quickly said, marvelling at how well she lied when she was tipsy. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’

‘Cheers, darling.’ He planted a kiss at the corner of her lips, lingering just a little longer than usual before drawing away. They waited until he disappeared outside. She cleared her throat, eager to salvage an otherwise rather enjoyable evening. It was going so well, and then…

Her companion cast her a sidelong glance, eyes hooded, silently asking.

‘That was my boyfriend.’ Uncomfortable.

He nodded, as if saying, _I know._ ‘Are you allowed to talk to other men without his permission?’

‘Are we the Flintstones in the Ages or something? Of course I am.’

‘Good.’ Before he could continue, they were interrupted once again, this time by a group of boys Eggsy was cool with. Daphne was beginning to accept that whatever fun she was having up to five minutes ago was long gone and unsalvageable. Heaved a sigh and lamented the untimely demise of a wonderful evening. Whatever sorry feelings she had for herself came rushing back, accompanied by the onslaught of guilt over sending off Brandon in favour of Eggsy’s company. Brandon, her own beau of two steady years. That kind of behaviour was really beneath her.  

‘Look we found ourselves a bare buff, innit. How about we buy the pretty girl a drink?’

Daphne sighed. There they were again, harassing single women simply because they could. Emptying the rest of her milk, she spared the brute, clearly tipsy, a warning glare, hoping he'd back down. In response, he bared his teeth in a mock roar.

‘I’m afraid I have to decline. Excuse me.’ She pushed off the bar stool, but a large, damp hand wrapped around her elbow yanking her back down. She could smell the smoke clinging to his clothes, the reek of stale alcohol in his bread, feel the dampness of his breath on her neck.

‘Nothing wrong with a bit of chirping, love. How about we start with a name, yeah?’

'Fuck off,' she snapped.

‘With all respect, I think the lady wishes to be left alone.’

Daphne stumbled back into her stool as Eggsy smoothly stepped between them, breaking the man's hold on her and blocking her off.

In response, the man spat at his feet. ‘Hey Ted, since when does you let little boys into the place?'

Eggsy stepped forward, forcing him back. A few blokes several tables away leapt to their feet. Eggsy ignored them, and instead held the stare of the first man. ‘I don't want any trouble, you got me?' 

He snickered. 'Step the fuck aside, muppet boy.'

Eggsy turned to the barroom attendant. ‘If you would kindly escort these gentlemen to the door.’

The man spat again. 

‘Are you startin’ me you? You lookin’ for beef, you piece of shit?’

She watched as Eggsy went very still, her heart hammering loudly against her ribs. For a moment none of them moved. Conversations stilled. It was as if the very room held its breath. Daphne glanced at Bessie, whose hand shot protectively around her abdomen.

Then Eggsy stirred. He turned to her. ‘Looks like evolution cocked up again,’ he said quietly, stealing a smile. 

 _Not funny_. 'Let's just go, Eggsy,' she implored.

The fellow was getting increasingly erratic, annoyed by his lack of a reaction. ‘You think you’re hard, mush? I’ll stamp out yer head you fucking dick!’

With a practiced slowness he drained his Lager. Then he raised his voice loud enough for all to hear. ‘I think it’s time I got you home, love.’ From his jacket he dropped a fifty onto the counter, waving the bartender over. ‘How about we get some Cosmopolitans for the ladies here?’

 _Checkmate_.

Daphne inwardly groaned. Just when she thought he had the wisdom to back off, he issued a clear challenge that was impossible for the men to resist. 

‘I’ll be seeing you again soon, eh Ted? Cheers bruv,’ Eggsy continued cheerfully, while giving her a helpful nudge in the right direction. She was all too glad to comply. She wanted no further trouble. Grabbing her purse, waving Bessie and her husband goodbye, she forced a path through the onlookers to the door. She glanced back to see Eggsy close on her heels, with a ridiculously antiquated umbrella in tow.

They barely made it down the steps to the streets when she sensed the scuffling of trainers that followed them. Five long shadows fell over them. She glared at him. 'Why the fuck did you have to do that?'

In response, Eggsy gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

‘Why don’t you give us boys some breathing space, eh?’ 

A shout came from behind them; a taunt. ‘I’m going to whack some respect into that dozy little pink head of yours, you piece of shit!’

Daphne barely ducked for safety when the first bloke swung wide. Eggsy easily sidestepped as if avoiding a crack in the pavement. He swung again; this time Eggsy ducked under the swing, coming up behind him and jabbing him in the jaw with the pointy end of his umbrella. Grabbed the point and yanked it out wide until the curved handle caught the man by the throat, squeezing out a strangled squeal.

‘You alright bruv?’ Eggsy asked coolly, not bothering to disguise the taunt in his voice. ‘Caught in a hook?’

Immediately he released the bloke; he barely hit the pavement before the second rushed forward, fists balled and raised. Eggsy turned his shoulder down just as he neared, catching Number Two in the waist and vaulting him over his back, in time to greet Number Three.

A quick flick of his wrist and the umbrella snapped into full bloom, catching him properly in the face and sending him careening to the ground. Just as quick as it started, the umbrella snapped close. A battle cry alerted him to one incoming from the side. In one smooth motion Eggsy braced the umbrella against his side like a rifle, then reversed the momentum driving the handle into Number Four’s nose. Daphne winced as she heard the cartilages smash into his skull.

It was like watching a dance, but instead of a curtain call, four men lay bloodied and moaning on the sidewalk.

If Daphne had any doubts Eggsy was capable of putting those boys in the hospital, they were gone now.

With an unhurriedness timed maddeningly to style, Eggsy tugged the creases out of his jacket and glanced at the last one standing, the one they looked to as leader. He had an arm raised, beer bottle poised to throw, but he didn’t look as sure as before.

‘Whatever you’re thinking…’ Eggsy gently stabbed the umbrella into the ground and leaned his weight against it. ‘…you may want to rethink it.’

The man wholeheartedly agreed, and bolted in the opposite direction.

Eggsy called for an ambulance, then it was time to go. He didn’t even appear out of breath. Hesitated when he saw her expression.

‘About that…’ 

Daphne cut him off. ‘If I weren’t this sodding drunk I’d call the feds. I'm not even mad at you anymore.' She sighed. Threw her arms up in exasperation. 'You're a fucking magnet for trouble, d'you know that?’ 

'So...not a word?' Eggsy asked, hopeful.

'Soul of discretion, whatever.' She didn't care anymore. 

‘Good.’ An easy smile flashed. ‘You’re getting into quite a habit of getting me out of shit creek.’

‘As you are making a habit of getting yourself into it,’ she countered.

‘Trust me, doll, that’s truer than you think. Now, where’s drum?’

That’s where she stopped him. ‘I can manage from here.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yep.’ She suddenly remembered her jacket when the wind picked up. Revelled in its warmth as she yanked it on.

‘Okay.’ He still sounded unsure. ‘I’ll see you around, yeah?’

She gave him a final smile. ‘Goodnight, Mr Unwin. Stay out of trouble.’

He tipped an imaginary hat. ‘Dr Greene.’

Eggsy watched her recede into the darkness, tempted to walk her home. But she insisted, and besides, work beckoned. Sighing, he drew out his glasses and called HQ.  

‘Yeah it’s me. The job’s complete.’

‘ _You certain?_ ’ Moira persisted.

‘She doesn’t suspect a thing,’ he bit down his lip, hating that he was part of this. ‘The professor did his work. She won’t be going anywhere.’


End file.
